Chasing the scent of Love, Truth, Beauty, and Mirth, wherever it may lead.

Saturday, March 08, 2014

Lenten Diary 2

Making the Best of Bad Weather

March 7 was
a dismal day in Norfolk, VA.
It felt like a nor’easter, wild winds blowing off the Chesapeake Bay
with something, I swear, near hurricane force. Naturally I had to be out in it,
duty called. But it was serious March weather, much more winter than spring.

Everyone I
talk to or overhear lately is tired of winter. A guy in the bank told me he
didn’t care how hot it gets this summer, he’s looking forward to it. I know
what he means. But to myself I wonder if we’re not in for a really hot summer,
like some we’ve had before, where it’s an effort to walk down the street.
Personally, I wouldn’t like that. I don’t know anyone who would, not even the
guy in the bank, I bet.

In these
parts we put up with a little winter because spring is so nice for so long. But
it usually comes sooner than this. This year winter’s hanging on like an attack
dog. It’s starting to feel a little punishing for us who are used to mild
weather when the Sun’s at this point in the southern sky.

But it
makes Lent, a time for spiritual reflection, feel a little more real. Bad
weather tends to do that for many people, myself included, by driving us
indoors, forcing even extroverts to face some self-reflection. Often
self-reflection leads to painful thoughts, which is why it’s generally
discouraged.

But in Lent
it’s the order of business.

Contemporary
thinkers might say Lent is just an outdated practice, hanging on from a
discredited religion. But I think it’s bestowed on us by the season. We are
caught in the undeniable cosmic divide
between the winds of winter and the winds of spring. And what a difference it
makes in how we feel and move about when, each year, spring prevails again,
usually by Passover, and by Easter.

Currently,
the triumph of spring is not clear yet, even if temperatures are not so cold at
night and a little warmer by day than they were two weeks ago. We know a change
is in the making. It’s the waiting for tangible results that beats down our
spirits. We drink too much and then regret it, watch too much trash on TV.
Or...whatever. Escapism runs high this time of year, which might be why people
speak of giving up escapist habits for Lent.

But on
March 7, faithful to my practice and despite the bone-chilling wind slapping
rain in my face, I went to the pool for my Friday swim. I stuffed down the
unpleasant thought of getting out of all my clothes to jump into a cool
swimming pool. It was in my best interests, I reminded myself, that I exercise
and stay in shape—the mind-over-matter approach.

No one was
in the pool when I arrived. I guessed no one was crazy enough to want to be. A
life guard sat blearily in one of the chairs. It was steamy hot and quiet, the
water motionless—every lane empty, just waiting for me.

I went into
the locker room and, shuddering at the thought, got undressed.

Fortunately
the required pre-swim shower was warm, but the pool...not so much. I took a
deep breath and set out, all by myself, with two life guards watching out for
me. Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four laps to go, and I just wasn’t into it.

So I
stopped counting. I just swam, and it was a little like I swam out of a dirty
skin into clear water. I let go of all those laps and began swimming for the
fun of it. I quit counting. I didn’t try to pace myself for the long haul. If I
felt like swimming fast, I swam fast. If I felt like swimming like a lazy
dolphin in a pond, I stretched out and swam at a crawl.

And when my
body said stop, I stopped. It was a most enjoyable swim. If I were to guess,
I’d say I swam ten or twelve laps, not counting the ones I’d swum before my
conversion.

“You’re
done already?” the one life guard called out as I got out of the water. He
knows my habits.

“It’s
Friday night!” I replied, leaving him and a co-worker alone by the vacant,
still waters as I headed for the lockers. I hoped I wasn’t just making an
excuse for being lazy. Should I have swum more laps?

Outside, the wind still roared,
dashing rain in my face. I felt out of time, and for awhile I couldn’t find my
watch. But I wasn’t as cold as when I went in, and the rain didn’t seem as
unkind. I made it through the Friday traffic to a warm, well-lit hearth where I
am guaranteed shelter from the storm. But also where, once more on this stormy
night, I can’t escape reflection.

What could be more Lenten? Mother
Nature seems to be enforcing it more stringently this year. I suppose she has
her reasons.